


God hath given you one face, and you make yourselves another

by sagiow



Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: Bedside Vigils, Civil War, F/M, Nurses & Nursing, Rare Pairings, References to Shakespeare, Shakespeare Quotations, Theatre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-24 23:29:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16185458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagiow/pseuds/sagiow
Summary: Most plays are not performed on stage





	God hath given you one face, and you make yourselves another

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tortoiseshells](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tortoiseshells/gifts).
  * Inspired by [her eye discourses](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15947156) by [tortoiseshells](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tortoiseshells/pseuds/tortoiseshells). 



All week, Anne Hastings had masterfully dodged the continuous invitations and incitements of the newly founded Mansion House Theater Company.  

To Foster’s keen curiosity, she had been curt. “The patients must come first,” she had vehemently chided him. “Who will tend the weak while the strong play at duels and balcony climbing, and all the doctors sit and watch?”  

To Hopkins, and his apparent reticence towards the project, she had been humbly encouraging. “The play will lift their spirits, which, with your good guidance, may lighten their heavy souls. I can only strive to soothe the pains of their bodies.”  

To Hale, who had anxiously sought her counsel on this unsanctified affair, she had been dismissive. “Oh, it’s harmless enough, Byron, but I won’t have anything to do with this farce. To hear the King’s English butchered so, and in that terrible falsetto of Welles’s all the more… weren’t there any American plays they could have disgraced instead?”  

And finally, to Emma Green’s eager mention of her small part at a nurses' meeting, she had been outright scandalized. “ _You_ , acting in a play? Put on by _soldiers_?” she had exclaimed, promptly squashing the young woman’s excitement. “Miss Dix would not approve of such frivolity! The stage is no place for a proper lady!”  

Emma had been rescued by Matron Brannan stepping forward, hands on her hips. “Well, maybe not for a grand British dame such as yourself, Milady, but our German Baroness of a Head Nurse doesn’t seem to have a problem with it.” The Baroness in question had tried -and failed- to keep her lips from curling in amusement, which had proven worse irritation to Anne that any retort she could have mustered.  

Thankfully, that had been the end of it, until, at long last, the curtain was drawn, and all who could had moved to the improvised auditorium to enjoy the show. All, except Anne. She had completed a last tour of the wards, ensuring that those who remained in their beds were comfortable enough, before retreating to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea and relish the seldom heard sound of her own thoughts for a precious moment alone.  

She had just uncapped her flask to improve her brew when Samuel Diggs burst into the room, his worried eyes readily finding her. “Nurse Hastings, sorry for interrupting, but have you seen Nurse Mary?”  

Anne set down the bottle, perhaps a little too loudly. “Have you been to Verona? I hear it’s lovely this time of year. Quite romantic.”  

“Is that _now_?” Samuel groaned. He seemed to evaluate his options and, finding none appealing, returned his gaze back to her. “I apologize for disturbing your rest, but I really need your help.”  

 She was about to argue, but the concern in his face left no room for it. “Very well,” she sighed, recapping her flask, and stood up to follow him, her tea regretfully abandoned. In the light of the lantern he carried, he led her up the stairs, through hallways she had rarely been down, until they reached a room she did not recognize. Softly, he pushed the door open and let her in. The room was warm, and the breeze that blew in from the small window was not enough to dissipate the metallic, yet sweet smell that was so prevalent in the hospital. Anne’s vision slowly adapted to the soft glow of the lone candle on the bed stand, and she saw a small form lying in the bed, motionless.  

 “It’s Aurelia,” Samuel announced, walking up to a dresser to settle the lantern. “She’s bleeding quite a bit.”  

“Bleeding?” she replied, puzzled. “How was she injured?”   

At this, Samuel shook his head demurely and lifted the blanket; Anne almost gasped at the dark stain on her drawers, the heavy bandages on her abdomen, but quickly regained her composure. “Was she… abused?” she asked, in barely a whisper. “Or did she suffer a miscarriage?”   

She saw him hesitate and search for words, and immediately understood. “Oh, the poor girl,” she sighed, shaking her head in compassion. “Surely it’s a surgeon she needs, not a nurse?” 

  “Dr. Foster operated on her already, did the best he could, she was doing well. Nurse Mary helped, too. That’s why I was trying to find her. I don’t think the bleeding’s anything too serious, probably just the dressings need changing, but her clothes and all…” 

 He stood there, so awkward and worried, that Anne could only smile reassuringly. “Of course. I’ll be glad to help her. Let me get some supplies.”  

 Samuel’s face lit up in relief. “I should have everything here already,” he answered eagerly, producing a basin with bandages, cotton and a few vials of medicine. “Water’s heating too. And there’re spare clothes in the dresser. Just let me know what you need.”  

 Pleasantly surprised, she nodded her thanks, and came up to the bed, while Samuel moved by Aurelia’s head. She was sleeping lightly, and he reached down to touch her shoulder.  

 “Aurelia?” he said softly. “It’s Sam. I’m with Nurse Hastings. She’s gonna tend your wounds."

 Aurelia’s eyes fluttered opened, and searched the room for a familiar face. When they fell upon Sam, her hand reached out for his. “Is it bad?”  

 “No, dear, don’t you worry, everything is quite well,” Anne soothed. She felt her forehead: a slight fever, but nothing unexpected under the circumstances. “I’ll get you changed and then give you some laudanum, to help sleep through the pain.”  

 “I’ll be right here the whole time,” Samuel replied, grasping her hand tighter. Aurelia nodded. Quickly, Anne removed the bulk of the soiled bandages and helped her change out of the stained nightclothes, noting that Samuel politely averted his eyes, yet never broke contact with her hand longer than a second. The linens were replaced just as efficiently, an extra sheet folded over to protect them for the work still to be done, and soon Aurelia was settled back into bed, and took the spoon proffered by Anne before letting her cheek drop back into the pillow.  

 “You just rest, now,” the nurse said. “I’ll be done in a blink.”  

 She immediately set off to work redressing the wounds. It did not take long for Aurelia to fall asleep once more, but Samuel was another matter. Anne could feel his nervousness across the bed.  

 “Would you mind bringing the light closer?” she asked, to stir him out of his idleness. He gladly obliged, placing the lantern at just the right angle to illuminate her work without impairing it.   

 “It’s really kind of you to help, Nurse Hastings,” he chatted, filling the silence. “I’m mighty glad you weren’t at that play tonight, although I do wonder why that was?” 

  _Not again_ , she groaned inwardly. “Oh, there was nothing much appealing to me about it,” she dismissed.  

 “Why not?” he asked, obvlious to her irritation. “I though everyone liked _Romeo and Juliet._ ” 

 “Well, I don’t care for it,” she replied, her patience growing thin. 

 “Really? It’s just that, it being Shakespeare, and you being English, I would’ve thought…”  

 “Thought what?” she snapped abruptly. “That we English all _love_ Shakespeare? Of course we do. He’s a national hero.” With added haughtiness, she continued, hoping to drive the point home once and for all. “But once you’ve seen his works in a London theater, played by the greatest actors to ever grace the stage, anything other can only be a disappointment at best, and, at worst, a cruel insult to his work.”  

 As if stung, Samuel stood speechless, and despite her utter exasperation at the ever-returning subject, she regretted that he had had to be the one to bear the brunt of it. “I’m sorry,” she finally apologized. “That wasn’t very humble of me. It’s just been quite the constant obsession for everyone here, these days, and it frankly drove me mad.”  

 “I can imagine their amateur efforts and questions must have be tedious,” he conceded, cautiously. “Must be something to see, these lavish theaters and costumes. But for most of us here, like they say, “Poor and content is rich, and rich enough”.”  

 “Foolish words if I ever heard any,” she scoffed. “Whoever said that was _obviously_ not very poor, as he couldn’t have been so content.”  

 He frowned slightly and was about to retort, but withheld his words, and stood up instead, taking the discarded materials with him and returning with the hot water and a clean washcloth.  

 “Snobbery aside, nursing, for me, is a much more worthwhile use of time than theatrics,” she continued, as a peace offering. “And yourself? You didn’t fancy joining the play?”  

 He shook his head. “The parts I’m interested in playing, they haven’t been written yet for people like us,” he said softly, his thumb grazing the back of Aurelia’s hand. The gesture was not lost on Anne, and made her regret her boastful outburst even more; she concentrated further on the task at hand, desiring nothing more than to leave them alone after dispensing what little comfort she could provide.  

  “You seem like you’ve done this before,” he commented, as he watched her work discreetly from his place by Aurelia’s head. “These types of wounds ain’t something you’d learn on a battlefield. Are you a midwife?”  

 A heaviness crossed Anne’s features, and she shook her head slightly. “Back in London, before Scutari, I worked in a charity hospital, ran by nuns. We tended poor folk; mostly women, often with child, dealing with problematic pregnancies, complicated deliveries, miscarriages… We sadly also had our share of desperate patients who had taken the matter into their own hands.”  

 “That must have been difficult,” he concurred.  

 “The hardest, actually,” she replied.  

 At his curious expression, she collected her thoughts in silence for a moment, and when she finally spoke, there was an edge to her voice he did not recognize. “Here, in an army hospital, you have a war to blame for all the horrors you witness. You have presidents and generals escalating the conflict, stoking the flames of patriotism that lead boys to leave their homes to fight and die, killed by other boys just like them. It’s utter, foolish nonsense, but you tell yourself that one day, the leaders will come to reason, the war will end, and boys will no longer be soldiers. That gives you hope, makes it bearable while it lasts.”   

 She rinsed the cloth in the basin, the water instantly turning scarlet. “But women will never stop being mothers. Even when they themselves do not want it, even when they do all they can to avoid it. Who can you blame, then, for someone in Aurelia’s state? No one? Everyone? And what can you do to change it, when even the nuns who nurse her judge her damned, and won’t allow teaching prevention, saying it’s a sin to interfere with God’s will? Where is the hope there?” she cried, pausing then to reign in the anger that had risen with her words. “Poor women might not be slaves, but neither are they free.”  

 Samuel pondered this, gravely. “Who is ever free, then? If not race, then sex, or fortune, religion, convention, family... They all hold us captive somehow. Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.”  

 She looked at him in wonder.  “Such a dreadful image, but I can’t say I disagree,” she sighed, dropping the cloth into the basin before wiping her hands on her apron. Wordlessly, he took the bloody supplies and returned with fresh bandages. 

 She took them, admiring their impeccable folds. For an instant, she deliberated whether to let the matter drop, but her curiosity got the better of her, and she pressed on. “You appear to be something of an actor yourself, Mr. Diggs,” she stated, gently. “Without a word, you’ve assisted me perfectly in this procedure, handing me the proper tools at exactly the right moment. No nurse on my staff can do this, much less the surgeons. That is rather uncommon knowledge.”  

 Samuel looked away from her interrogative gaze; focussing on a curl at Aurelia’s temple, it was his turn to weigh his words, debating if the nurse could be trusted with the truth, or if she would have him hang for it. “Ignorance is the curse of God; knowledge is the wing wherewith we fly to heaven,” he recited, as a final test and almost prayer.  

 Her expression turned to utter confusion, and it was all the confirmation he needed. Leaning back, he held his head high, and met her gaze squarely. “I grew up in a doctor’s house,” he stated outright. “He let me assist him, taught me everything he knew. I’ve helped with more surgeries and deliveries than I can count.” 

 He braced himself for the horror, the accusations, but they did not come, only further bewilderment. “Why did you seek my assistance for this procedure, then? You obviously did not need it.” 

  He was completely thrown by this. “Medically, no, but intimately… it didn’t feel right,” he explained, sheepishly. “I knew her life wasn’t at risk. I didn’t want her thinking I was... taking advantage, somehow.”   

 “That is quite honorable of you,” she commended. “But if you’ve had just as much a hand as Dr. Foster in saving her life, as I strongly suspect you did, I’m sure she would not have held this small breach in modesty against you.”  

 “Maybe, but I didn’t want to risk it. Though she be but little, she is fierce,” he countered with a half-smile.  

  She tilted her head in amusement. “I must confess, I did not know you to be such the poet, Mr. Diggs.”  

 “No, quite the Bard, actually.” A shadow of doubt suddenly crossed Anne’s features, and he pressed on. “The good doctor… He was quite fond of Shakespeare, and he encouraged me to read his plays and discuss them with him. So, you could say my uncommon knowledge also covers most of your national hero’s works. Whereas yours... I’ve quoted famous lines from at least three different plays tonight, and you didn’t pick up on a single one.”   

 She stared at him, the shame of the discovery growing in silence until there was nothing to do but confess. “You’re right. I know next to nothing of our greatest writer. I was lucky to stay in school long enough to learn to read and write, but I’ve worked ever since. What little time I had for reading, I tried to learn things, find new opportunities. So no, there was not much room for poems and plays. In recent years, I did try to read some, just to stop feeling so ignorant about it, but the truth is, pride aside, I don’t care for it at all; the archaic language, the ridiculous problems of kings and queens and mythical beings of faraway lands. Not things that matter much in the East London slums, or here, in the midst of a war.”  

 “It provides an escape,” Samuel shrugged. “Makes you dream of better, or makes you realize things could be worse.”  

 She shook her head vehemently. “Dreaming only takes your mind away, while you remain where you’ve always been. I have no intention of staying put. I don’t waste my time in make-believe.” 

  “The very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream.”  

 “Are you quoting him again?” she groaned. “Must he have a line for everything?”  

 “Of course. His plays might be about nobles and gods, but the struggles they go through are every man’s… or woman’s. For all their fancy speech, they are relatable, even to the modest likes of me.”  

She pondered this for an instant, and he pressed on. “You’ve accomplished what you set out to do. You’ve escaped the slums, become a respected, talented nurse, saving lives an ocean away, and all this without any Shakespeare. I don’t see anything to be ashamed of. But if that lack weighs on you still,” he continued as she was about to argue, “a quick trip to Verona might enlighten you.”  

 She cringed. “They might ask my opinion on the play. I’ll look the complete fool. It’s all I deserve, I know, but I can’t stand to lose face to the staff... and especially the patients.”  

 “Praise the efforts, not the results,” he suggested, good-naturedly. “Everyone knows there is amateur theater, and then there’s _this._ Expectations could not be any lower. And who knows? It might be so bad it ends up somewhat good.”  

 At this, she could not help but chuckle, her bruised ego slowly recovering under Samuel’s continued kindness. “You know, I did sneak into a Shakespeare play, once. When I was a girl. I didn’t understand much from it, but there was a line that stuck with me. “Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful”. I do believe this describes you quite well, Mr. Diggs. ”  

 Samuel smiled at the compliment. “ _Measure for Measure._ One of my favorites. And if I may quote one last line, I’d offer you one from _Titus Andronicus_ in return, Nurse Hastings: “Sweet mercy is nobility’s true badge.”  

 “Wise words to strive to live up to, and I shall make the effort,” she agreed. “And if I may solicit that uncommon knowledge of yours for an instant longer to help me finish with your friend, please rest assured that I will speak no word of it afterwards, although it will be a harder effort still not to be able to rely on such skilled hands in the wards, until the men in charge come to realize the absolute stupidity of their so-called superior race.”  

 He nodded in gratitude. “Well, this is one of the reasons for our country being at war. May it be the one good thing to come out of it.”  

  "From your lips to God's ears, Mr. Diggs. May it hopefully be."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> In the comments on tortoiseshells' "her eye discourses", readers had wondered about what Anne and Samuel would have been up to while the rest of the staff was busy with the play; middlemarch provided some lovely inspirations, and now (considerably later), here's mine.
> 
> It was fun to hark back to late S1 and imagine a conversation between this uncommon pairing (did we *ever* see them together in the show? Refresh my memory please!). Part of it stems from my own very limited knowledge of Shakespeare (French education, it's all your fault) and, like Anne, I wouldn't have been able to identify most quotations without the uncommon knowledge of my good friend Google. 
> 
> As always, this came out 1000++ words over target, and waxed more philosophical than anticipated, hence the overtime needed to finish it. The long summer writing hiatus absolutely did not help break this curse of mine...
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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